


Finding Normal

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Embedded Video, F/M, Gen, Season/Series 09 Spoilers, child fic, parent - Sam, sammy bigbang challenge 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds out that there is something else Ruby was hiding from him. Can he & Dean make a home for the child he never knew he had? He might have cured his brother once but the Mark of Cain still haunts the Winchesters and it's dark shadow hangs over every move they make. Sam wants to keep his daughter but, deep down, he knows he will never 'Find Normal'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Normal

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Sammy BigBang/MiniBang challenge on [LJ](http://sammybigbang.livejournal.com/). I got to work with [Ash48](http://ash48.livejournal.com/) on LJ who produced the wonderful video below, please follow the [link](http://ash48.livejournal.com/448937.html) to give her the kudos she deserves.

  
  


Sam rolled over and stared at the illuminated numbers on his alarm. It was 2am and he’d been lying here since midnight so it was obvious sleep was eluding him. He sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was cold in his room and he could see his breath in the air. He shuddered and reached down for his hoodie pulling it on over his shoulders and tucking his hands inside the sleeves. He got up and, cautiously, opened his door. He could hear the distant sound of Led Zeppelin and he figured that Dean wasn’t finding sleep any easier to come by.

He padded down the long corridors and into the kitchen. There was plenty of milk in the fridge so he poured a generous amount into a pan and lit the gas. Coffee might not help him sleep but it would make him warmer and he figured that a little sugar might not come amiss right about now.

His cell phone buzzed once in his pocket and he frowned taking it out and staring at the number. It wasn’t one he recognized but he’d made a lot of acquaintances over the years, so it could be anyone. His eyes were tired and achy so he held the cell nearer to his field of vision and clicked open the message. 

**_Mr. Winchester_** , it read **_could you please contact Sister Mary O’ Malley at the Sacred Heart Convent. This is a matter of urgency_**.

Sam frowned; he was pretty certain he didn’t know a Sister Mary, and while he had visited a fair amount of convents as part of his job he didn’t remember seeing this one.

“Not sleeping?”

His brother slumped in the chair beside him and started scratching idly at the Mark on his arm. Sam could see how sore and red it looked and he smacked Dean’s hand lightly trying to keep his voice even and fairly cheerful.

“Stop that . . . you’ll make it bleed.”

“Yeah, sorry mom.” Dean managed a smile but the shadows under his eyes and the pallor of his skin told their own story. “Sammy you cured me, okay? We should at least draw a line under the demon thing.”

“I’m not the only one awake.” Sam pushed his cell phone over to Dean. “But while you’re here, what do you make of this?”

Dean read the message twice and then looked up at Sam with a shrug.

“Weird,” he mused. “You gonna’ ring them?”

“Maybe . . . in the morning.” Sam took the steaming pan off the gas and pulled out two mugs. “You want coffee?” He asked, amused by the hopeful look in his brother’s eyes.

“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his hands together and managed another wan smile. “Sounds awesome.”

 

****

 

They both must have dozed; Sam opened his eyes and rubbed at the crick in his neck. He could hear a loud humming noise and realized that his brother was asleep and snoring lightly. Sam took the empty mug from Dean’s limp fingers and put it in the sink with his own. He checked his watch and saw that it was nearing 9am and his stomach protested rumbling hungrily.

_’Okay,’_ he said to himself. _’Healthy breakfast, and then a quick run’_.

He showered quickly and washed away the sweat and grime. Dean was still out of it and Sam let him sleep figuring he needed it. He plucked his cell from his pocket and read Sister Mary’s message one more time before he typed the number and pressed the phone to his ear.

****

“This is Sam Winchester.” He kept his voice low so as not to wake Dean. “I got your message and thought I’d better ring. Do you have – um – um a problem I can help you with?”

“I don’t like to refer to this as a problem,” Sister Mary’s voice was gentle. “But we do need your help, Sam.”

“What is it?” Sam wondered if the woman knew he was a hunter, if she knew what he did.

“Does the name Ruby ring any bells with you Sam?” Sister Mary’s voice didn’t waver but Sam felt the earth tilt beneath him. He sat down on the hard floor and leaned his head against the wall breathing in and out.

“Yeah, we . . . .” he had no words. “She’s dead,” he added lamely.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sister Mary’s tone was sympathetic. “She seemed such a nice girl.”

Sam’s heart stuttered in his chest and he thought, for a moment, that he might pass out. Lack of sleep and all the things that had gone before had exhausted him and he could feel himself slipping into shock.

“Sam,” the sister was still talking. “Sam . . . ?”

“I’m here,” he managed to say, and she clearly didn’t know what he did or what Ruby was. It was also clear that the poor woman had been deluded, won over by Ruby, tricked no doubt, and tricked in the same way Sam had been. “What did you need to tell me? About Ruby?”

“This is not about Ruby,” the sister’s voice grew lower, more sympathetic. “This is about Grace, her daughter.”

 

****

Sam sat staring at his brother’s sleeping face; it was the only time Dean looked peaceful, his mouth slack, his body relaxed. If he looked close enough Sam could see the fine thread of lines around Dean’s eyes, the furrow of his brow, a thin sliver of grey running through his hair. The Mark peeked out from under his cuff, accusing, and a reminder of what had gone before and what was still to come. They had been happy recently, more like brothers again. Ever since the case at that school, when they had watched their _lives_ unfold things had been really, really good between them, and the resentment of the last few years had been worn away.

Sam bit his lip and stared at the cell in his hand, he wasn’t sure how he was going to approach this with his brother. Dean was not going to take it well, and Sam didn’t want to break the easy peace between them. His brother had hated Ruby, loathed her for what she did to Sam. Hell, Dean hadn’t hesitated when he’d had the chance to plunge the knife into Ruby’s stomach and neither of them had any regrets at seeing her dead.

Truth was that Sam couldn’t deny that he’d slept with Ruby, that they’d had unprotected sex on several occasions. He’d needed her, been reliant on her for his _fix_ , and she’d played him good and proper. There hadn’t been any real fondness between them, but she’d stepped into the gaping hole Dean’s absence had left in his life and he’d been grateful for that. 

Now, looking back, he realized that she had often been absent; off on some _quest_ or other. He’d been inclined to leave frantic voicemails and she had come back eventually full of sass and irritation, treating him like a wayward child who had been naughty in some way. He stared at his hands and thought about what Sister Mary had said about Ruby’s child. _Grace was a good little girl_ she’d told him with some pride. _Four years old and very bright for her age._. Apparently her _mother_ , and Sam still couldn’t get his head round that, apparently her _mother_ had left instructions for the convent to contact Sam just before Grace’s fifth birthday. _She was_ , Sister Mary explained, _too old to stay at the convent now. She needed a home and a family, and she needed stability._ Sister Mary hadn’t said it out loud but she didn’t need to. Ruby was Grace’s mother, so therefore Sam was . . . he swallowed and shook his head burying his face in his hands in denial. He couldn’t be the girl’s father. He couldn’t be. Even if she did belong to Ruby (and he had huge doubts about that one), that didn’t mean . . . he got to his feet unable to keep still a moment longer. He was in a predicament to be sure, and he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do.

 

****

Dean didn’t rail him about unsafe sex or wasn’t snarky. Instead he backed out the Impala and threw two hastily packed duffels into the trunk. Sam sat beside him in the passenger seat and leaned his cheek against the cool window. Outside it was already growing dark, winter creeping in fast. Sam shivered and wrapped his arms around his chest trying to ignore the minute shudders that ran through his body. He felt nervous, apprehensive and he didn’t know what to say or do.

“You know that this is probably just another of that demon bitches tricks, Sam,” Dean broke the silence, his voice rough. “Fuck, I wish I could bring her back to life so I could kill her again!”

“The Sister said that Grace was Ruby’s daughter,” Sam was finding it increasingly hard to get out the words. “She left instructions for them to contact me. Why would she do that?”

“Likely it was some poor kid who she took from their parents just to mess with you,” Dean’s reassurance sounded lame and unconvincing. Sam glanced at him feeling instantly guilty. After all they had been through they really didn’t need any more crap, and he was praying that this WAS a bust and that Grace was just a poor orphan kid who’d be looked after by child services and find herself a home. He sighed up into the darkening sky and prayed to whoever might be listening. It must be time for the Winchesters to finally get a break.

 

****

The convent stank of incense and candle wax. Sam’s stomach rolled, memories of Illchester flooding into his brain, the thick taste of salt blood in his mouth, the overwhelming power it gave him, Lilith’s laughter, and the bright burning light that was Lucifer rising. He felt Dean’s hand at the small of his back, firm and supporting. He was glad of it, his head felt so light that it might float away from his body at any moment and he leaned back against Dean’s palm.

There was a slight movement to the left of them and a nun dressed in solemn black and white glided almost ghost-like towards them. She looked very old, but her movement was graceful. She stopped before them and smiled, soft and gentle, her hand extended.

“You must be Sam,” she said. “My name is Sister Mary. I imagine you have come to see Grace.”

Sam nodded; behind him Dean huffed an irritated breath and moved to stand by his side.

“I don’t know what you want us to do,” his tone was harsh. “With this child.”

“She needs her father.” Sister Mary was still staring at Sam, head to one side. “She needs a family.”

“How can you know that he’s her father?” Dean was bristling with anger now; Sam could feel it and he knew the Mark would be burning Dean’s flesh, driving him on. “Ruby was a skank of the highest order.”

“Dean!” Sam’s cheeks flushed but Sister Mary seemed unaffected. She shook her head regretfully and she looked at Dean with a certain amount of sympathy in her eyes.

“You should meet the child,” she said, finally. “Then you’ll see.”

Sam nodded.

“Ok, I mean we’ve come this far.”

“She’s excited to meet you.” Sister Mary smiled then, her gaze moving from Sam to Dean and back again. “She’ll be delighted to know she has an uncle too.”

“Look, lady . . . ,” Dean began but Sam nudged him hard with his shoulder, shaking his head.

“Let’s just go and meet her,” he said. “Get this thing over with.”

But even as he said it something in his gut told him that it would never, ever be over.

 

****

The nuns had obviously made some attempt to make the room habitable for a four year old girl. It was small and compact with a small window and a little pink lamp that was throwing out a fair amount of light. There was a single bed with a red and white coverlet, and a bookcase full of books. On the bed a furry bear lay upside down, and a threadbare woolen monkey was sitting propped up against one of the pillows. Sam hesitated in the doorway his heart in his mouth. There was a slight movement to the side of the door and then a small voice piped up.

“Come in.”

Dean stepped around the door first and Sam followed with some reluctance. He didn’t know what he was going to find inside the room and he felt uneasy. Unlike his brother he wasn’t very good around children. He never knew what to say to them, hadn’t had any experience with them, always the cared for never the carer.

A girl stood in the corner of the room. She was dressed plainly in a black and white pinafore and a grey blouse. Her feet were bare and there was a smear of dust on her cheek. As she stepped into the light Sam heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath, and he followed his brother’s gaze, heart thundering in trepidation.

The girl seemed tall for her age; she had long skinny legs and arms and there was little or no fat on her. Her hair was a burnished chestnut and it flicked up around her slender throat in thick waves. Slanting eyes stared up at him from under dark lashes. They were brown and bright, curiosity burning in their depths. She had a strong jaw and dimples and it was clear that, whatever else she was, she was definitely a Winchester.

“Hello.” Her cheeks flushed a little, but there was a smile on her face. “Sister Mary said you’d come, but I wasn’t sure.” She held out a small hand all politeness. “My name’s Grace.”

“Hey Grace,” Sam said and swallowed down the myriad of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him. He could hear Dean move behind him and he turned to look at his brother.

Dean had his _game face_ on. Sam couldn’t even begin to read his expression, but he could tell that his brother was far from happy. He didn’t even acknowledge Grace, but he was staring at her intensely and Sam saw his hand move to his belt.

“Don’t,” he hissed, low so the child couldn’t hear him. “Dean!”

“We need to talk, Sam!” Dean grabbed his shoulder and tugged hard. “Right now!”

Sam took Grace’s hand in his own amazed at how slight it seemed, his fingers enveloping it.

“Pleased to meet you Grace.” He was astonished at how calm his voice sounded. His hands were shaking and there was a painful ache in his throat. He knew, without question, that this was his daughter but he also knew that she was Ruby’s daughter too and, deep down, he was acutely aware of what that meant to both him and to Grace. “I-I . . . .” He glanced at Sister Mary who was watching them all attentively. “I’ll come back,” he added. “I just need to talk to . . . ,” he swallowed again not able to say, _your uncle_ or to give himself a title that he was nowhere near deserving. “I just need to talk for a minute and then. . . .” He looked into those deep brown eyes and he was acutely reminded of those dark days with Ruby, of how he had stupidly trusted her and of how he had been so royally screwed over. “I’ll come back,” he tried again lamely. “I promise.”

 

****

Sister Mary showed them into a cozy side room which had obviously been set aside for visitors. There was a coffee pot brewing on a small stove and a plate of plain cookies on the table. Dean ignored everything and whirled round to face Sam, anger obvious now, the glow of the Mark stark against the paleness of his skin.

“What the fuck, Sam.” It was a statement not a question. “You know what she is, right?”

“She’s my daughter,” saying it made it more real and he kept his eyes on his brother’s face, the effort of actually saying it agonizing.

“She’s a monster,” Dean ground out and Sam shook his head in pathetic denial.

“She’s just a child,” he said. “She’s a little girl.”

“Look, I understand. I do.” Dean gripped his biceps suddenly, eyes wild. “There was that Amazon chick, remember? I had a daughter then and you shot her.” His eyes met Sam’s. “It was the right thing to do.”

“This is not the same thing, she was going to kill you. Grace isn’t . . . .”

“Her mom was a full blown fucking demon,” Dean was almost snarling and Sam could see he was having trouble keeping his anger in check. “And you were hopped up on her blood! If, and I mean IF, this child was conceived back then, there isn’t much hope that she’s anything more than evil waiting to happen.”

“You don’t know that,” Sam said and felt a sudden warmth on his cheeks and he was shocked to realize that he was crying. Silent tears that threaded themselves down his face. “You can’t know that.”

“We can’t risk it, Sam. I know she’s probably yours, but . . . .” He squeezed Sam’s arms tighter. “You don’t know her, man. You can’t afford to be invested, not in this game.”

Sam was glad of Dean’s arms holding him; his legs felt weak and he almost went down. His mind was whirling and he couldn’t help but think about Jess and how he would have loved to have had a child with her, and about Amelia and his sudden longing for domesticity. He wasn’t a fool, he knew that being a hunter meant that having a family was nigh on impossible. Dean had tried it and it hadn’t worked out, but then again Ben wasn’t Dean’s and Grace, whatever she was, Grace belonged to him and he couldn’t and wouldn’t let his brother kill her.

 

****

“We could take her,” he knew it sounded pathetic and lame and the plea in his voice was easy to read. “For a little while.”

“Sam, do you even know how you sound?” 

Dean’s voice was still harsh and angry. No amount of coffee or cookies had changed things. They had been sitting in the little _visitor’s room_ for over an hour, and Sam knew he was nowhere near convincing Dean that Grace should, at least, be given a chance.

“She’s mine.” Sam put the fact out there, stark and real. “And I’m not going to let you kill her.”

“Then leave her here, let the nuns find her a fucking home.” Dean’s hand went to his belt again and Sam took a deep breath. He knew the demon killing knife was nestled against Dean’s body, knew his brother was desperate to use it.

“I can’t.” Now he had seen the child he couldn’t, in all honesty, turn his back on her. She was so young and so vulnerable, and she needed a family. Deep down he knew Dean was right, someone else could care for her far better than Sam could, but there was something niggling in the back of his mind. What if Grace wasn’t quite a _normal_ child, what if she did suddenly turn into a monster.

“So what are you suggesting? That we take the kid back to the bunker? Yeah, that’d be great for her, it’s a really kid friendly place.” Dean’s smirk was closer to a sneer, and Sam recoiled a little.

“No, but . . . ,” he realized he didn’t have an answer. “She deserves a chance, Dean. You didn’t shoot me when I was possessed, and I didn’t give up hope when you were a demon. We’ve had countless opportunities to waste Crowley, and the bastard is still walking around.” He swallowed hoping his brother would hear the sincerity in his voice.

Dean was silent for a long time and then he shrugged.

“So what do you wanna’ do? We can’t take her back to the bunker, and she can’t come on hunting trips with us. So you wanna’ take her, good for you - but you have to be practical here. Don’t let your heart rule your head.”

“We could. . . .” He knew what he was going to suggest was going to make his brother even angrier but he needed to take this chance, maybe his only chance. He had always wanted a family, children of his own and Grace, Grace was his; of that he was certain. “We could maybe take a break? I know you need to keep hunting, but we could rent a house somewhere, get a sitter for when we go on hunts,” it sounded wild even to his own ears but he ploughed on regardless. “It would give us both a chance to relax a little and maybe be brother’s again.”

Dean stared at him in barely concealed amusement.

“Sammy,” he began and his tone was placating and almost cruel. “This is stupid and you fucking know it.”

“Then I’ll do it alone!” Sam tipped his chin up and stared at his brother defiantly. “I’ll leave the bunker and I’ll settle somewhere close. You c-can . . . ,” his voice almost broke, heart breaking a little at even suggesting this. “You can contact me when you need me.”

There was silence for the longest time and Sam winced at the sudden pain in Dean’s eyes. He hated this, hated it; they had been in tandem since the Supernatural _musical_ , and they’d gotten back to being brother’s again. Now this threatened to tear them apart, and it made him feel so fucking low and so fucking cruel.

“Okay,” Dean’s voice was low but his expression had softened just a little. “If you want this, then I’ll go along with it - but on two conditions. The first is that I’ll join your domestic _heaven_ , okay? I’ll rent a house with you and we’ll do the _family thing_. I’m not having you go off on your own, Sammy. Not again. Let’s face it that never goes well, does it?” Dean forced a smile and Sam found himself smiling back, relief flooding through his veins.

“What’s condition two?” He asked, finally, when he felt he could speak.

“Yeah, well.” Dean scratched idly at the Mark. “You’re not gonna like it.”

Sam was sure he wasn’t but he inclined his head.

“Tell me.”

“The second condition is that if she – if Grace – shows any signs. . . .” Dean looked at him then, determined, and sure. “Any signs of being a demon skank, then we waste her. Do you get that, Sammy? Any moving things with her mind, eyes turning black, any fucking reaction to holy water or silver, and we waste her.”

Sam felt his throat tighten painfully but he steeled himself and nodded. He wasn’t sure that he could do such a thing, but Dean was right. When he’d slept with Ruby he’d been almost out of his mind with demon blood. He’d been an addict pure and simple, and Ruby had been his dealer. He hadn’t had any real affection for her, just a need that she sated. A need for his brother, a need for companionship, and a need to be controlled. Shit, he hadn’t even found her attractive. She’d been too thin, her eyes soft and cunning. There was terseness about her, no soft edges. He might have had some feelings for her, but they had long since vanished, wiped away by his life with Amelia where he had known real love, and real regard.

“Okay,” he acquiesced, hoping to God he wouldn’t regret it. 

“We can’t take her now,” Dean was still talking. “We need to find somewhere first.”

“I don’t know anything about kids.” Now his brother had reluctantly agreed he felt a sharp panic an instant worry that he was doing the right thing.

“Yeah, well that’s why you need me little brother.” Dean’s smile was more genuine now, his eyes clear and bright. “I’ve had plenty of experience, particularly with kids who are a pain in the ass.”

Sam couldn’t hold back his own smile and he wondered if Dean could see the relief there.

“Thanks,” he said and he really truly meant it. “Seriously thanks, Dean.”

“Let’s hope you’ll still be thanking me in a few weeks,” Dean’s tone turned serious. “This isn’t gonna’ be a walk in the park, Sammy.”

“I know,” he admitted but he couldn’t help the surge of hope that assuaged him. 

 

****

They found a house just outside of Lebanon; a smallholding miles away from the nearest town. It was run-down but it had power and furniture, and it was clean enough. There were two rooms, but Sam and Dean were used to sharing a bedroom, and even a bed, so that wasn’t a problem. It had running water and a lot of land, and Sam noticed a few stray cats wandering about looking hungry.

“Paradise,” Dean sounded his usual cynical self. “Gonna’ need a coat of paint and a few scatter rugs, but . . . .”

“You don’t mind? Staying here?” 

“We’re close enough to the bunker if we want to do research, or if we need weapons.” Dean shrugged. “And I noticed there was a kindergarten in town,” he added and looked at Sam. “You did realize she’d need a school, didn’t you?”

Sam hadn’t realized; it stung him, made him feel guilty at how little he knew about small children and their needs. Dean had been more of a father to him than his own father, so Sam only had his older sibling as a role model. Their childhood had hardly been ideal, and he wanted better for his own child; for Grace.

 

****

It took them a couple of weeks to get the house up to scratch so, consequently, it was almost a month before they went back to the convent to pick up Grace. 

The child was waiting for them in the visitor’s room; she looked suddenly very small and vulnerable in a winter coat that was way too big for her, her chestnut hair tied back in an untidy pony-tail. Sam looked into dark slanting eyes and saw the panic there. A crooked smile brought dimples to her pale cheeks and Sam found himself smiling back warmly holding his hand out for the small suitcase she had gripped tight in her fingers. It didn’t seem much for over four years of life, and Sam felt his throat close remembering his own sparse and transient existence.

Grace followed them obediently to the car; there were no tears when she said goodbye to the nuns, no hugs either. Sister Mary watched them go with a slight smile on her face and Sam wondered at her innate calmness, her almost cold affection. 

Grace sat by the window, and let Dean belt her in. She was one of the quietest, most submissive children that Sam had ever seen (not that he had seen many) and he felt another pang of sadness as he watched her peering out into the gathering darkness, her only known home vanishing into the distance. He couldn’t help but wonder what she really felt. Sister Mary had never referred to him as _father_ when she had talked to Grace, but he felt sure that the nun had told Grace that’s who he was. Grace had expected him to come, the nuns had promised that he would. No one had asked him for any proof and no one had offered any explanation. He had no clue why Ruby would hide a pregnancy or even how she hid it, and he had no clue as to why she would leave her daughter (their daughter) in a convent.

“Stop thinking so hard Sam.” 

Dean’s voice broke into his reverie and he realized that he had totally zoned out. He turned a little to see that Grace had slumped in her seat and was now fast asleep. Sam stared at her for a long time trying to feel something, anything other than a burning responsibility. He had little doubt that she was his, but he couldn’t really comprehend that he was a father. Deep down he knew that he was scared and too scared to admit it even to himself. What if his daughter turned out to be a monster? Could he kill her? Would he? It was doubtful. He hadn’t killed Ruby, he hadn’t killed Dean. Even though it was almost eight years ago the memory of killing Madison was fresh and painful in is mind. If that had been hard then putting a gun to a four year old child would be near on impossible. 

“Earth to Sam,” Dean spoke again. “Stop it dude, you’re gonna break your enormous brain.”

“Sorry.” He shook himself and looked at his watch. They were about an hour out now and soon they would be arriving at their new _home_. “I just can’t get my head around all of this, y’know.”

“Yeah.” Dean didn’t turn his head but Sam could hear the understanding in his voice. “I felt like that when I first saw Ben. I was convinced he was mine, and it kinda’ hurt when I found out he wasn’t,” he sighed, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “But that year I spent with him . . . it was - if I wasn’t so damn hung up about you rotting in the cage, it would have been pretty damn good.”

“I don’t know how to handle her,” Sam burst out, honest and terrified all at once. “S-she’s so quiet.”

“Maybe she’s a brainiac like you,” Dean chuckled, obviously remembering. “You were a pretty quiet kid yourself. You always had your head buried in a book.”

“We never had a childhood, Dean. I never had one at least,” Sam tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “We never had Christmas, not really, never celebrated birthdays or any other holiday. Dad’s idea of a gift was a shotgun or a book about the supernatural and I don’t want that for Grace.” He glanced in the back of the car at the sleeping child and his heart melted a little. “I want . . . ,” he sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.”

“I know you don’t wanna’ hear this, but, the best case scenario is not to get too involved. We are gonna’ give this a shot, Sam, but it isn’t gonna be easy and it might not work. At least she’s outta’ the convent now, and she can be a kid for a while. We don’t know the first thing about her. We never even got a birth certificate and we are gonna’ have to get creative about that.”

“Nothing makes sense,” Sam sighed. “To get her into school, to register her with a doctor, we are gonna’ have to fake an awful lot of documents.”

“Well, you know we can do that. Something useful that dad taught us, at least.”

Sam nodded and continued to watch the sleeping girl. He only hoped that they COULD make a go of this because he really wanted something he could succeed at, something he could be proud of. If anything good came of his liaison with Ruby, it would be this and he prayed to whatever God might be listening that he would have the chance to make a life for his child.

****

They had attempted to make the room look child friendly. Dean had painted the walls in bright colors, and they had found some pictures of Disney characters in the local goodwill. Sam had picked up some books that he deemed suitable for four year olds and they had managed to acquire some random fluffy animals and a couple of creepy (or so Dean said) looking dolls. Sam thought it looked bigger and brighter than her room in the convent, and he hoped she’d like it.

Dean carried her in; she was still sleeping and he laid her on the bed gently. He pulled off her shoes and socks and pulled the coverlet up over her bare legs. Sam managed to remove her coat too, and he stood and stared down at her for a moment trying not to feel like a stalker or too creepy. 

She seemed so small in the bed; her chestnut hair spilling out from the ponytail, her dark lashes fluttering a little in sleep. There was certainly a look about her, something that convinced Sam she really was his.

“She’ll be fine.” Dean’s hand was on his shoulder firm and reassuring and he found himself swallowing, the ache in his throat making it hard for him to speak.

“I hope so,” he got out finally, his voice cracking and Dean just squeezed harder, big brother again for the first time in a very long time.

****

It was much harder than Sam ever imagined. He had never had any experience with children and, while Dean was better, neither of them had actually lived with a little girl before. Grace, for her part, was quiet and well-behaved. She spent hours sitting next to the window reading and, when the weather was fine, she would go outside and play with the feral looking cats who lived around the small-holding. 

Sam longed to talk to her; he wanted to find out more about her, what she liked, what she thought about, how she had managed so long in the convent full of cold, unaffectionate nuns. She sat at the table and ate with them but the conversation never really got beyond what she liked to eat, or what she had read about. Once she asked them what she should call them and, before Sam could even respond, Dean jumped in and told her simply to call them Sam and Dean. Sam tried to see if there was disappointment in her eyes but he didn’t know her well enough to read her expressions, and it hurt him more than he was prepared to admit.

After they managed to forge all of the relevant documents Sam took Grace into town to register her for school. They drove together in the Impala, Grace in her seat looking, unbelievably, smaller clutching a small backpack, and a brown paper bag with the lunch Dean had prepared for her which Sam was sure contained pie.

“Are you . . . um . . . looking forward to school?” Sam kept his eyes on the road rather than try to gage Grace’s expression. She certainly took after her _uncle_ as far as keeping her game face on.

“Yes.” There was a rustle as Grace shifted in her seat. “I-I always wanted to go, but the sisters wouldn’t let me. They taught me about God, though.” He heard the doubt in her voice. “I didn’t like it there, they scared me.”

“Why did they scare you?” Sam couldn’t help it; he turned a little so that he could see Grace’s face. It was milk white, her dark eyes standing out against the paleness of her flesh. For a terrible moment she looked so much like her mother and his heart jolted.

“They talked about heaven and hell, and how bad people go to hell,” she replied and her eyes went wide. “They said that I was a . . . ,” she lowered her voice to an almost amusing stage whisper. “Bastard, and that I would go to hell.”

Sam shuddered, despite Cas’s intervention all those years ago he still remembered hell, could still feel the heat, the intense pain of torture; still hear Lucifer’s taunting, Michael’s constant whining.

“You won’t go to hell, Grace. Only bad people go to hell and you’re not a bad person. You fed that skinny cat, didn’t you? That’s an act of kindness for a start.”

She giggled then and put her hand over her mouth as if she was trying to hide her amusement, hold it in. Sam shook his head.

“It’s okay to laugh,” he said, gently. “There’s nothing wrong with laughing.”

“Dean laughs.” Grace was smiling and Sam could see dimples, see the light in her eyes now. “He says that pie and beer make him happy.”

Sam swallowed; he had no idea that his brother had spoken to Grace.

“Do you talk to Dean a lot?”

“He reads me stories at night.” Her cheeks flushed as if she was telling secrets. “And he lets me read to him. He says . . . .” She looked at Sam with her head to one side considering. “He says that you have to learn how to look after little girls, cos you don’t know much.”

Sam felt his own amusement bubble and, for the first time since bringing Grace home, he felt a bond with his daughter, something warm, familiar almost. Grace finally felt like family.

****

Grace took to school like a duck takes to water. Sam dropped her off on that first day and she never, literally, looked back. Every day he came to collect her. Her teachers were full of praise for her and he found himself puffing up with stupid pride, listening to them tell him how clever she was for her age. 

They had cut back their hunting activity to the bare minimum and Sam knew that Dean was restless, he could sense it. He also knew Dean was still suffering from the effects of the Mark. Dean needed to hunt, and he needed to kill but he was trying hard to resist the temptation. He was trying hard for Sam.

They fell into an uneasy domesticity. Sam found himself a part-time job at the local bookshop. The hours were odd and the pay was pretty crap, but it was something. Dean went on small hunts alone, but Sam insisted he only do simple salt and burns, and monster kills. No demons, and nothing whatsoever to do with the King of Hell. There was a peace between them, an innate understanding that had been missing for years. They could tease each other again; touch each other, a shoulder squeeze here, and a tap on the knee there. They were brothers again and it was something Sam wanted, needed even.

It was odd being a family. In the evenings they would go into the sitting room and Dean would light a fire. Then they’d sit watching old Disney movies (ones they had missed when they’d been kids themselves) and eating popcorn. As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks to months, Grace began to relax and to get chattier, and became more excited about the things around her. One by one the scraggy cats left their outside existence and ended up inside lying soft and warm by the fire. Dean mumbled about fleas and cat food but Sam would often find him with a pile of cats on his knees, broad fingers rubbing through patchy fur.

Sam had longed for domesticity, and for normal, all of his life. He’d long accepted that he would never really have it. Sure he’d had his opportunities – with Jess and with Amelia – but he’d never been able to hold onto it. He’d realized, with a stark revelation that he would never be truly settled without Dean by his side and here they were, the Winchesters, with their own house. Sure the bunker had been a home for Dean but Sam had never felt that way about it. Inside it had always felt cold and clinical, and too full of the accruements of hunting for Sam ever to see it as anything more than their _headquarters_.

During Thanksgiving with Dean serving up a perfectly roasted turkey and pumpkin pie, Sam realized he was happy; it actually dawned on him, the creeping sense of real joy, and a warmth when he looked at Grace, a tenderness when he sat with his brother sharing a beer and a joke. 

For the first time in his life Sam wasn’t waiting for the next shoe to drop. In reality he shouldn’t have been so fucking stupid.

****

Hunters were a strange breed; Sam knew that, hell he’d been one for most of his life. They’d met and worked with a few along the way, but most of the time their _partnerships_ hadn’t been all that successful. Tamara and Isaac, Garth, Rufus . . . their liaisons had been awkward at best. Most hunters perceived the Winchesters to be a threat, and Sam still remembered with vivid and awful clarity the attack in Garber Oklahoma and he still had nightmares about it. Then there was their _death_ at the hands of Walt and Roy. Sam had been a hunted man back then and deservedly so, but he felt he’d paid the price now and he’d managed to put Lucifer back where he belonged.

He drew up to the school and parked the Impala. As usual the kids (and several of their parents) stood and pointed, open mouthed at baby. Sam got out and stretched his legs leaning against the car and waiting for Grace to arrive. 

“Mr. Winchester,”

It was Grace’s teacher; she looked hassled, her grey hair spilling from the neat bun she wore and her face pale.

“Hey.” Panic hit Sam in the gut and, to his horror, his hands were shaking.

“Your brother. . . .” There was a frown denting her forehead. “He came to collect Grace over two hours since. He said you were really sick, that there’d been an accident and he needed to take her to you.”

“Dean?” It didn’t make sense, Dean had left on a hunting trip that morning and Sam had brought Grace to school on his way to work. He hadn’t expected to see Dean for a couple of days at least, and now, now he felt real and genuine fear. “Okay,” he said not wanting to panic the poor woman any more than necessary. “There must have been some misunderstanding.” He pulled his cell from his pocket and tried to keep his hands from shaking not sure if he was more scared for Grace or for Dean. “I’ll call him.”

She nodded and smiled shakily.

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” she said.

Trouble was he was so damn far from alright that it wasn’t even funny.

****

Dean wasn’t answering his cell and Sam’s frantic message went through to voice mail until the beep told him it was full. The house was as empty as it was when he left it, and he strode through the cold rooms shouting out their names even though he knew no one would answer. He was beyond petrified and the ingrained hunter in him seemed to have lost his way.

He didn’t even know where to start looking. Bobby would have been his _to go to_ guy once, but now there was no one. Jody was miles away and Garth at home with his werewolf family. Everyone else was fucking dead and Sam felt the loss more acutely than ever. He was on the verge of summoning Crowley when his cell rang. Dean’s ring tone. Sam swallowed down every fear he had and put the cell to his ear.

“Sam,” his brother’s voice and he almost fell, the relief flooding through his veins like liquid fire.

“Dean, what the hell? I went to pick up Grace and they told me that . . . .”

“Sam,” Dean’s voice broke into his sudden diatribe. “You need to come quickly.”

“What’s happening? Is it Grace? Has she . . . ?” He couldn’t put it into words, his mind conjuring up images that he couldn’t shake away.

“Hunters, Sam,” Dean’s voice shook just a little. “Forced me to take her out of school and threatened me. They told me if I didn’t do it, they’d kill you.”

“Kill me?” Sam looked over his shoulder, a tingle running up and down his spine.

“We got complacent, Sammy,” Dean sounded both guilty and angry all at once. “You need to come,” he coughed then, loud and harsh and Sam shuddered again as he realized that his brother was in real danger. “Some people found out about Grace and they think she’s a monster, Sammy, because she’s yours.”

“Where are you?” He was already fumbling for the car keys, for his knife, and for any weapon he could lay his hands on.

“Barn, two miles out,” Dean’s voice was getting distant and Sam heard the rough voice of a stranger in the background coupled with distressing sobs. Grace, they were hurting his brother and they were hurting Grace and Sam wasn’t going to let that happen a moment longer.

****

He found it without any problem; a rickety looking structure with two meatheads posted outside the hanging wooden door. He stopped the car almost half a mile away and went the rest of the way on foot. He didn’t want to announce his arrival, in fact all he wanted was to kill the bastards’ one-by-painful-one.

It was the high pitched and scared scream that got him; Grace’s voice louder than he had ever heard it, and so full of fear that it made his heart beat too fast, and sweat break out on his forehead and chest. He broke into a run without thought and flew around the corner with his hand on the knife tucked in his belt.

The sight that met his eyes was one that would be seared on his retinas for decades. The two meathead guards were on the ground, one had his head cracked open, and the other was bleeding out, eyes wide and full of fear. Behind them Sam could see his brother. Dean was wild-eyed and almost manic, the weapon in his hand unknown, he was slashing at one man while another was lying slumped against the wall, a gun hanging weakly from his fingers. Sam quickened his pace, breath coming in frantic pants. As he got closer still he saw Grace standing to the side. Tears streamed unchecked down her flushed cheeks, and when she saw Sam she began to sob fitfully.

“Daddy,” she cried. “Daddy, daddy!”

He never thought he would hear those words from her, and his heart ached as he swept her up into his arms and held her. 

“Daddy my daddy,” she sobbed into his neck, tears mingling with the sweat there. “They said they’d hurt you. They said that I was . . . ,” she said and took a trembling breath. “A-a monster.”

Sam shushed her. He could see his brother up close now. Dean was unhurt as far as Sam could make out, but he was clearly still under the influence of the Mark. He may not have the blade anymore, but he didn’t need it. His anger was being fed as he beat a third man over and over with the large sharp edged weapon he had in his hand.

“What happened?” Sam couldn’t save both of them, and he backed away with his child in his arms.

“Dean got the man’s stick.” Grace was still sniffing, tears smearing her cheeks. “He started to hit him, and then when he stopped moving, Dean started to hit the others,” her voice was muffled. “Daddy?” She was clinging so tight and he wanted to sob along with her. “Why did those men want me? Why did they call me a monster?”

Sam had no answers. He took her out onto the grass and told her to stay there. She sat, obedient as always, as Sam went back to the barn to get his brother.

The fighting was over. There were no survivors, just a pile of bloody corpses which Sam helped Dean drag into pile before setting the whole shit heap of a barn alight. They watched it burn in silence because there was nothing either of them could say. The flames burned higher even as Sam stared and, with a heavy heart, he saw his domestic life go up with them knowing with dreadful certainty that they would never be able to escape this life but, perhaps, Grace could.

****

He tucked his daughter into her bed and handed her the fluffy bear that she brought with her from the convent. She seemed to be having trouble letting go of his hand and he sat on the edge of the coverlet and let her cling to him.

“I’m sorry,” Sam found himself whispering. “I’m so sorry Grace.”

“I don’t understand daddy,” she said and his heart lunged at that word. “Why did those bad men want to hurt me?”

He shook his head, wordless. Despite everything they had done they just didn’t seem to be able to catch a break. Hunters had long memories and to most of them he would always be the man that started the Apocalypse. He would always be a monster.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” The lie came glibly off his tongue and he stroked the back of her hand with his fingers. He didn’t want her to live her childhood as he had done. He didn’t want her to be forever frightened. She hadn’t had much chance to be a little girl, to go to parties, to have friends, to visit a zoo or a theme park. She’d gone from living with the nuns to living with a pair of damaged human beings and, although they’d done their best, it wasn’t ever going to be enough.

“Uncle Dean’s a hero,” Grace said and yawned, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. “Isn’t he?”

“Yeah, baby he is.” Sam bent down and pressed his lips to her forehead, warm and damp now, her eyelids drooping as she began to doze. “He took care of me and now he’s taking care of you. Now all we need to do is take care of him.” He smiled wryly as he watched her fall into sleep. 

****

Dean had showered, and the smell of blood had been replaced by the scent of soap and cologne. He looked pale, the Mark standing out as red as a fresh brand on his arm. Irrationally Sam wanted to get his fingers into Dean’s skin and rip the Mark off. He hated it, and what it stood for, and he loathed what it had done to his brother.

“You wanna’ tell me what happened?” He sat down opposite Dean and pushed a cup of coffee over the table towards him.

Dean picked up the coffee and blew into the mug, he was stalling and both of them knew it.

“Before, after or during?” Dean was going for humor but it was a feeble attempt at best. Sam couldn’t get the image of his brother going postal out of his head, couldn’t stop thinking of Grace’s pale face and her heart-felt plea. Couldn’t get his head around the fact she had called him _daddy_ , a term he never thought he’d hear, something he never imagined he could have.

“Dean!” Sam’s temper exploded in a slam against the table, his fist burning. Dean’s eyes went straight to his face and Sam saw the pain there.

“I was working on the car when they rang me,” his voice was flat. “They told me they were watching you and that they were outside the library with a gun. I couldn’t take the risk, Sammy. I couldn’t lose you. Fuck, I know I was being stupid, and that I shoulda’ checked but they told me if they even smelled me you were a dead man.”

“They asked you to bring Grace?” Sam’s eyes burned and he wiped at them angrily, his fingers coming away wet. “And you took her out of school, and took her there?”

“They were going to kill you! I couldn’t take that risk. I don’t want to lose you again, Sammy.”

“She’s a little girl, Dean. She was terrified. They called her a monster to her face. She isn’t a monster, or even a demon. She’s just an innocent little girl.”

“You’re my brother.” The answer was stark, real and it hurt. “Simple as.”

“She’s my daughter,” as he said it he wondered if it was the first time he really believed it, and wanted to lay claim to it.

“I know.” Dean’s eyes were wet now and Sam saw a single tear thread its way down his brother’s cheek. “And I’m sorry. I never meant . . . ,” he sighed. “I’m not in my right mind to be frank, Sammy.”

“Yeah, I saw.” Sam bit his lip. “You went pretty postal on those mothers.”

“Didn’t even hesitate, once I got a jump on ‘em, once I knew you were safe, I couldn’t stop . . . not until every single one of them was dead. The smell of their blood, of their fear . . . it was like some sort of drug. An addiction. I couldn’t stop, Sam.”

“Grace thinks you’re a hero,” he said and managed a small smile. “She told me that you read to her at night, and talked to her about me. Pretty soft hearted there _uncle Dean_.”

“Not so much. I put her life in danger without even a thought.”

Sam stared at his brother in silent understanding. They were so fucking co-dependent on each other, so fucking damaged. Over the years they had done so much, seen so much and the only people they could truly depend on were each other. Sam knew they were damaged almost beyond repair, and he knew that they would never change. It dawned on him right there and then that he would never have the _normal_ life he had once craved and neither would Dean. This house, his job, the domesticity; it was all a dream, a fantasy and they couldn’t keep it. He knew they had to return to the bunker, and had to find out a way to rid Dean of the Mark. Eventually they would have to reconnect with Cas, and discover a way of destroying Crowley and his demons. 

“Sammy?”

Dean must have seen the expressions playing across his face; because his brother didn’t say another word just reached forward and gripped Sam by the shoulders pulling him into a hug. Sam responded instantly hugging back as tight, sobs bursting from him. He made no attempt to hold them in, and he could feel Dean shuddering as his own grief became tangible, intense.

“We just can’t keep her, Sammy,” Dean’s voice was muffled. Sam didn’t respond, he knew his brother didn’t want or need an answer. It was a statement, pure and simple and as much as it hurt it was nothing but the truth.

****

They packed Grace’s bags on a Saturday; she’d left school the day before, all of her classmates and teachers damp-eyed. Grace didn’t cry; she stood silent and stoic listening to their praise. Sam didn’t know what she was thinking, still hadn’t learned her _tells_ , but his own heart was breaking and he didn’t know if he would get through this.

He knew it was for the best. If he didn’t want Grace to have his childhood he had to let her go. There were still people out there, hunters who would kill him or his child, and demons who would get to him through Grace. 

She deserved better.

There were so many childless couples out there who would love Grace, who would give her a normal life. The woman at the agency had reassured Sam of that, spoken to him gently and with the upmost patience. She hadn’t asked him and he hadn’t offered. There was no judgment because it was obvious that Grace had been well cared for. Sam and Dean had taken her shopping and bought her anything she wanted. She was a good girl and a true Winchester, and there would be no tales about demons, ghosts or monsters. 

He would never know why Ruby had the child or why she chose to leave her with a bunch of nuns. Some sick joke no doubt, a final _fuck you_ to Sam and Dean. Deep down he hoped he might be wrong and, perhaps, she did care. She had cared enough to leave her somewhere safe at least, and Sam had to take some sort of comfort in that.

They were left alone for a while in one of the agencies private rooms to ‘ _say their goodbyes_ ’. It was awkward, Sam feeling tearful, Dean with his game face on, and Grace looking lost. Sam kept staring at the little girl, remembering his pride when the teachers told him how bright she was, the fun they’d had doing simple things like grocery shopping. He recalled how much the feral cats had loved her, how she had bought collars for every single one of them and how she had spent her meagre allowance on cat food. He put his head in his hands for a moment and he felt a tug on his sleeve.

“It’s okay, daddy,” Grace’s voice was quiet. “I understand. I do.”

Sam turned then and pulled her into an embrace; she was so small in his arms, a fragile creature. 

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “I’m sorry you never knew your mom and I’m sorry that I couldn’t have been a better dad to you.”

“I was happy with you and Dean.” Grace tried to pull him in tighter and he hauled her onto his knee, not caring now if she saw him cry. “But I know there are things you need to do. I know you both have really important jobs, more important than anything. I won’t forget you daddy, and I promise when I’m old enough I’ll come looking for you.”

Sam nodded; the agency had asked for a forwarding address but he hadn’t supplied one. The bunker was _top secret_ and their lives had always been so transient that, apart from his fleeting time with Amelia and his shared apartment with Jess, he’d never had a forwarding address and, perhaps, that was for the best.

Dean had been right when he’d said that his life would end bloody. It had hurt Sam to hear him say it, but, deep down, he was aware that neither of them would live to see old bones. Grace might well look for him one day but he was afraid she wouldn’t find him. 

“Mr. Winchester.”

The kind lady appeared from nowhere with a tactful cough. Sam looked up and Grace slithered from his knee. His arms felt heavy and empty all of a sudden and he gulped down his grief watching his last chance of normal walk out of his life for good. As they reached the door Grace turned and gave him a small wave. She was smiling despite the tears in her eyes and he waved back, one final goodbye.

****

They’d already packed and Sam sat in the car as Dean turned off all the power in their _home_ and locked the door one final time. Cats threaded themselves around his brother’s legs and Sam hoped that they would be able to survive without Grace. Dean pushed the cats away gently and got into the car. He looked pale and wan, shadows under his eyes indicating a lack of sleep and too much alcohol.

“We’ve done the right thing, Sam.”

Dean didn’t turn as he spoke and Sam was glad because he couldn’t keep his game face on, and his eyes were damp again. It was dark now, winter truly in ascendancy. He wondered what it would have been like to give Grace Christmas, for the three of them to celebrate together. They hadn’t really _done_ Christmas since that time in Michigan a few months before Dean’s deal. The holidays had passed them by since and Sam hadn’t even thought about it until now.

“Yeah,” he hoped he didn’t sound as close to tears as he felt. “I guess.”

“Those hunters found her and they thought she was a monster. I know that’s what I thought, but I was wrong. That skank Ruby might have been her mom, but she was pure Winchester through and through. She didn’t even cry when they took us. She was so fucking brave.”

Sam couldn’t answer. He stared out of the window at nothing for a long time and, eventually, Dean put on AC/DC to drown out the silence.

****

Back in the bunker everything was the same as they’d left it and Sam took his duffle bag to his room where he dumped it on the bed. His room was impersonal and anonymous and it would never be home. He guessed, apart from the car, that nothing would ever be home to him again. He’d tried to settle down, he’d tried to have a family but his every attempt had ended in miserable failure. He wasn’t trying again.

Christmas crept up on them unawares; Sam was researching the Mark and ways to remove it and Dean was looking for hunts. They were existing rather than living, and neither of them were particularly happy even though they were pretty good at pretending.

Sam woke on Christmas morning and he felt no different to any other day. He got up, went for a jog and showered. He didn’t see his brother and he guessed Dean might be in his room making merry with Christmas whiskey. However, when he walked into the kitchen the smell of bacon made his mouth water and he saw that Dean was at the stove cooking. His brother turned and grinned at him and Sam saw genuine happiness in Dean’s smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Sam.” Dean gestured that he sit. “Made you a killer omelet, man. I’ve got something else for you too but you gotta eat breakfast first.”

Sam did as he was told, didn’t even comment when Dean put on some cheesy Christmas music. He finished his breakfast in record time and let his brother lead him into the study.

Dean had been busy. There was a small fir decorated in lights and tinsel, a few garish Christmas ornaments which looked distinctly stolen, and a huge red sack that appeared to be moving. Sam stared at it and then at Dean.

“What the hell man? Dean I didn’t get you anything.”

“Just a little something.” Dean bent down and opened the sack. For a moment Sam’s breath left his body as a small yellow puppy tumbled out of it and made its way unsteadily towards Sam. Tiny paws scratched at his jeans and he found himself laughing wetly as he pulled the dog into his arms and held it against his chest. “I know it’s no substitute for your daughter, but you need something to look after Sammy, apart from me. I know you always wanted a dog and now, now’s a good time to get one. We can train him to hunt,” Dean laughed. “I don’t even mind if he pees in the car.”

“Dean.” Sam had no real words, he held the puppy in his arms and just stared at his brother, overwhelming love surging up inside of him as he realized how foolish he’d been. Sure the bunker wasn’t home, but that didn’t matter, home was where the heart was, and Sam’s heart (and body and soul) had always belonged to Dean.

Dean’s smirk was decidedly shaky, he didn’t move any closer and there were no hugs or tears but his emotions were close to the surface and so were Sam’s. Winchester’s had always been pretty shit at sharing, and Sam guessed that wasn’t going to change.

“She’ll come and find you one day, Sammy. She’ll look for you, and I want her to find you alive. I saw your face when she waved goodbye. I know what you were thinking and I was wrong to say what I said about dying, Sammy. I might have wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, but we’ve got something to live for now right? We’ve got family.”

Sam let the puppy go and it wobbled over to Dean its tongue lolling, out of the corner of his eyes the Christmas lights wavered, flickering through the burn of his tears. He felt a sudden warmth and hope and, for the first time in a long time, he saw the future and it looked bright.

“Thanks,” he managed to say, watching the pup chew surreptitiously at his brother’s best boots. “Really, thank you.”

“What are you gonna’ call him, Sam?” Dean wiped at his eyes and changed the subject as quick as he could.

“I think I’m gonna’ call him, Hope.” Sam couldn’t hold back his grin now and Dean grinned back, eyes brighter than the Christmas lights, a dawning faith in them.

“Hope,” Dean agreed. “I like the sound of that.”

End

 


End file.
